Category Archives: humor

Cheesy Bikinis

I DVR’d Prehistoric Women (1967) based on its description on the digital cable guide channel, something to the effect of brunettes enslaving blonds in the jungle. What’s not to like?

The movie opens on the male protagonist (naturally), the leader of a safari who feels “responsible” for the jungle. Blah, blah, blah, get to the cheese already! He comes across some natives and watches their extended dance sequence. I don’t know if this was the well-researched, educational portion of the movie, but it involved a lot of butt-wiggling, especially on the part of the scantily clad female natives.

Our hero is captured by the natives and faces judgement by the White Rhino or some such nonsense (you know I don’t pay much attention to these details). Suddenly everybody but Hero freezes, some natives with their speeds in mid-air, and a wall to another part of the jungle opens up. This, I felt certain, is where we’ll meet the blonds and brunettes.

And so it proves. First Hero meets this gorgeous, dewy-eyed blond who bites him and runs away. Then they are both captured by the evil brunettes and thrown into a cave/jail.

“Are you here to help us?” the young blond asks, at her dewiest.

He’s like, “Uh, yeah, sure,” even though he really doesn’t know what’s going on yet (neither do we, but who cares?). Soon he meets the head brunette, who naturally wants to make him her boy toy.

At this point I couldn’t quite understand why all the girls were not having sex with him, because it struck me as such a porno plot (no, I don’t watch pornos, but I saw one once and, anyways, it is pretty well known what constitutes the plot of a pornographic movie, so just quit snickering) (you know who you are).

According to Leonard Maltin (Leonard Maltin’s 2007 Movie Guide, Penguin Group, New York, 2006), who gives it a star and a half, the movie has a cult following because of the “commanding, sensual performance” of the head brunette. Oh, please! The movie has a cult following because a whole bunch of women spend a lot of time running around in leather bikinis!

I don’t know where these women found blow-driers and eye-liner in the jungle, but they are certainly all gorgeous. It is not clear who they’re being gorgeous for, because all the men are confined in some cavern doing hard labor (the benefit of which is also not clear, because, you know, jungle). And, no, there is no girl-on-girl action, barring a couple of wrestling matches in which nobody loses a top (so don’t get your hopes up). I’m sure this flick had no problem garnering a PG rating.

Anyways, our Hero naturally does not want to be boy toy, the more so because he has fallen in love with Dewy Eyes. So Head Brunette throws him underground with the rest of the men. While there, he finds out the whole back story of why they are all there, brunettes in charge etc.

It’s a real “Waaaait a minute!” plot. For one thing, it’s been this way for as long as Dewy Eyes can remember, but the women are all in the 18 to 24 age group. The men have a greater age range and are a good deal less gorgeous. Really, I don’t see why they could not have provided some eye candy for us female viewers. But perhaps I ask too much.

One blond, in a moment of wisdom, says they must stop looking at the men as their enemies. I personally am not a fan of the battle of the sexes, so was in agreement with this sentiment, but I had thought this was a story about blond vs. brunette, a premise that could take up a whole blog post all on its own if I were so inclined.

But that’s neither here nor there. I was highly entertained by this ridiculous movie, even thought I saw the “Or was it?” ending a mile away (no, I’m not going to tell you! I didn’t even include a spoiler alert!). Oh, and you can tell Leonard Maltin if you see him that he doesn’t have to make up stories about commanding performances. I don’t mind if he likes to look at ladies in leather bikinis.

In My Defense, I’m in a Play

This is a Mid-Week Middle-Aged Musing. At least, that’s what I’m calling it. In fact, once again, I got nuthin’.

Part of the problem is that I am in another play at Ilion Little Theatre. You see, after Dirty Work at the Crossroads got postponed, our little group needed another play for our fall production. After much discussion (to put it mildly), we decided to host another group’s play.

Angela Harris, a Mohawk Valley native, has written a readers’ theatre piece about the Little Falls textile strike of 1912, entitled Strike Story. It was presented in the Black Box Theatre at Canal Place in Little Falls recently (I may have mentioned in a blog post that Steven and I attempted to attend but it was sold out). One of our members went to see it, liked it and thought it would work just fine on our stage. The Little Falls group was amenable, and so it was arranged.

Unfortunately, not all participants could make all the production dates that were set. This is where I come in. I was suggested for one of the parts. I felt so flattered, how could I say no? I somehow had the impression it was a small part. Thinking back, I don’t know where I got that impression, because it is not the case. It is kind of a large part. Oh dear.

All this by way of saying, I have been studying my part on breaks at work, not writing blog posts. I made it OK yesterday by running after work and writing about that. Today after work I had to do something else (which may make tomorrow’s blog post), and somehow it got to be after 6:30 and I have neither fixed supper nor made my blog post.

Anyways, here is the one musing I can come up with: I am a theatre junkie. I just can’t say no! It doesn’t matter what it is, if it is theatre and somebody asks me to do it, I jump in with both feet. In this case, I am kind of glad I did it. I never did readers’ theatre before, I love local history, and I am inspired that this lady actually wrote a whole script and finished it. I’m going to start writing myself. Only, it seems, not blog posts. Try me again tomorrow, and Happy Wednesday.

Wrist to Forehead Sunday

This happens all the time. I promise Mohawk Valley adventures which I fail to deliver. Well, I did threaten to institute Wrist to Forehead Sunday in case of just such an emergency, so here goes.

So let’s see now, Middle-aged Musings Monday which sometimes becomes Mid-week Musings, Lame Post Friday, Running Commentary Saturday which I have not been able to deliver on for a couple of weeks now… Wait, didn’t I have something for Thursday? The Thursday Trudge, I think. Why don’t I just say this is a whole blog about how hard it is to write a blog and have done with?

I did have some Mohawk Valley adventures yesterday that I expect to write about eventually. We had breakfast at Heidelberg Bakery Cafe and visited the Ilion Farmer’s Market as well as Ilion Wine and Spirits. We’ve been watching cheesy movies for a good portion of today. I actually may not have to go lame again till Friday.

We took two walks with Tabby today. She is such a sweet, good dog. Inclined to stop and sniff a little too often, but she doesn’t hold a grudge when we insist she continue the walk before she’s ready to. It’s a cloudy day with a bit of a breeze but not too cold. The trees are becoming bare but you can still see some bright color. And there are ghosts, pumpkins, skeletons and spider webs on many porches. Plenty of entertainment with our exercise.

Did I mention that yesterday Steven and I celebrated 22 years of wedded bliss? Well, we did. He’s a pretty good husband, and I’m… well I can only do my best. Luckily this is not a marriage blog.

I see I am over 200 words of this nonsense. I recently received e-mails telling me I acquired two new subscribers. Why do I always do such a colossally stupid post right after I get new readers? They’re going to unsubscribe from me in a big fat hurry. Then I’ll have a reason to put my wrist to my forehead. Hope to see you Monday.

Of Lime and Grime

So about halfway through cleaning my bathroom and feeling awfully grumpy about it, I said to myself, “That’s it! I’m doing a post about cleaning!” Immediately my chore took on a new interest, as I thought of things I could write later.

For example, I thought, the Lime Away does not seem to be actually taking away the lime. Then I realized it was not Lime Away but something called The Works, and I am not clear on which is lime and which is grime. (Isn’t that a crime?) (I just love to rhyme) (OK! I’ll stop! Sheesh!)

Then I got into a wrestling match with the disinfecting wipes. They are supposed to pop so handily out of the dispenser. I daresay the name brand does, but I am not at all sure of that (perhaps a head to head comparison for a future blog post?). Ah, it was the end of the bunch. No wonder.

My bathroom wasn’t really that bad, although I confess I do not give it a weekly cleaning as I used to do. Back in the last century, when Steven and I both had nine to five (or thereabouts) jobs, we used to clean the apartment every Saturday. We’d put on our album of Pippin (yes, album; I did say it was the last century, didn’t I?) and be done before the grand finale.

I haven’t thought about that in years. Today as I scrubbed and huffed (um, that’s huffed as in, “Humph! I have to clean the bathroom!” not huffed as in that substance abuse thing I’ve heard certain young people are into) (Or is that old news? Well, so am I old), I wondered if some music would help. Steven was hard at work in the kitchen downstairs, though, so we would have had to blast the music for us both to enjoy it. That may have perturbed the dog.

Cleaning did not take us an onerous amount of time. And writing a blog post about it was the opposite of onerous. Now Steven is in the shower (I hope he doesn’t mess it up), and soon we will embark on this weekend’s Mohawk Valley adventures. Stay tuned!

Spare Me the Existential Post

So I don’t have much of a headache, and my back doesn’t feel too bad. Lame Post Friday ought to be a breeze.

Of course it’s not. You didn’t think it would be, did you? I wasn’t sure, myself. I thought it could go either way. Looks like it’s veering into Existential Writer’s Crisis. Nice.

Existential is one of those fancy words that people use to sound erudite that don’t really mean much. “Spare me the existential pose,” one character says to another in the movie Big Chill. He could just as well have said, “Spare me the pose,” or even, “Spare me” (I guess some people wish they had been spared the whole movie, although I like it).

Where was I? Ah yes, in crisis. Not much of one, really. My wrist is not on my forehead. It just looks as if I’m writing yet another post on Why I Can’t Write a Post.

And that was as much as I wrote at work today (on a break OF COURSE). I spent the rest of the afternoon wondering if some reader would post a condescending comment explaining to me the meaning of existential philosophy. I had my reply ready, “You sound very erudite.”

Still, as soon as you start thinking about the condescending things people might say to you, you tend to stop writing. At least many of us do (probably that condescending comment-poster does not have that problem) (you know who you are).

When I got home I looked up existential in not one but two dictionaries, to make sure it means what I think it means. I don’t believe in quoting the dictionary, so to give you the definition, I will quote a movie, The Ref, an awesome Christmas movie (although Steven categorizes it as Twisted Christmas). Kevin Spacey and Judy Davis are a married couple in therapy, which they seem to sorely need but which is not doing them much good. I may be paraphrasing:

Kevin Spacey: In the meantime, she never finishes anything she starts. Photography classes. Cooking classes. Existential philosophy courses.

Judy Davis: At least I go after my dreams!

Kevin Spacey: Do do what? To take pictures of Lutefisk to prove the nothingness of being?

Why can’t I write shit like that? (That’s from another movie: In Soapdish, writer Whoopi Goldberg says it when real life drama intrudes on the set.) Just when I thought my sidetrack into the meaning of existential was going to derail my crisis.

But, crisis or not, I see I am over 400 words, or if you don’t count my movie quotes, over 300 words. That’s a respectable Lame Post (as respectable as they get). Happy Friday, everyone!

Karma and Krispy Kreme

Why is it that sometimes I remember something that happened years ago and it still makes me just as angry as if it just now happened?

Other people say, “Oh, I don’t get angry about the past — it’s PAST,” or, more metaphorically, “You’re letting those people live rent-free in your brain.” That’s all very well, but what if they ignore the eviction notice? The worst one, because I fear it is true, is, “They’re not here. You are tormenting YOURSELF!”

This is one reason people like to believe in karma. It is very comforting to think that some time, some place, some how, THEY’LL GET THEIRS!!! (number of exclamation points dependent on how much dirt they did you)

It is hard to argue with karma theory. I can say, “It’s not true! Look at them, still living high off the hog (or is it high on the hog? Subject for future post), still getting whatever the hell they want, because they just take it.” The karma person replies, “You might not be there to see it, but…” Like I said, it’s a comforting thought, but I’m not quite sure I believe it.

One thing that occurs to me, though, is that people are rarely truly contented with what they have. I look at Matilda (I use the name because I have never in my life actually met anybody named Matilda), and I think she has everything: husband of her choice, nice home, beautiful clothes, lots of money. What I don’t see is that Matilda is absolutely tormented every time she looks at Winifred, who has a nicer home! And more money! And is single so she can sleep with whoever the hell she wants!

I don’t think that’s karma, though. Karma would be if Winifred slept with Matilda’s husband, because Matilda stole him away from Audrey years ago. Audrey would not necessarily be there to see it, but…

I did not start out to write about karma today. I had quite a different Mid-Week Middle-Aged Musing in mind. However, while I was thinking about it, my mind started to wander and suddenly all I could think about were a few particular people who did me dirt. What’s a writer to do but write what’s on her mind and hope to segue into something more interesting as we go.

Well, at least it interested me. The funny thing is, I’m feeling better now. Because I think karma is going to get them? Because I realize that in their minds they have their own unhappiness to deal with? No, I think I just took my mind off it.

And that raises another interesting thesis: the advice Just Don’t Think About It, while often good advice, is not always easy to follow. I don’t know about you, but for me, as soon as you tell me not to think about something, that is the only thing in my brain. Try it. Don’t think about donuts! Now I got Krispy Kreme on my mind. I can just hear some of you now (you know who you are): “I find it very easy not to think about donuts. I don’t even like donuts. I never even eat a donut.”

Some people can invoke Scarlett O’Hara’s famous mantra, “I’ll think about it tomorrow.” As long as they tell themselves they can think about it another time, they can put it out of their brain. Me, I need to displace what I’m trying not to think about. If I can think of something else to think about, I’m gold. So thank you, Matilda, Winifred, Audrey and Krispy Kreme.

I Forgot the Plot

Saturday I watched not one but two Whistler movies DVR’d from TCM (does that sound like I’m spelling things so some little kid doesn’t know what I’m talking about?).

The first was Return of the Whistler. I confess, I spent most of Monday morning trying to remember what the plot was so I could write about it. So, yeah, I guess you could say it is not very memorable.

A man and woman are on their way to get married. We sense there is something about this woman she is not telling us. At least, I think we’re supposed to. I was mostly trying to figure out what her accent was supposed to be. She’s French, we find out later. OK.

When they go in to see the Justice of the Peace, somebody stops and monkeys with their car with the result that they are stuck. Which is just as well, because the JP as been called away and can’t marry them till morning. By morning, however, the bride has disappeared (come now, you didn’t think they could spend the night in the same room before they were married, did you?). Then things get complicated.

And that is pretty much all I can tell you without giving away some of the jolting twists of the plot. I don’t want to do that, because jolts are about all this movie has going for it. The romance is blah, the solution is silly, and there is zero comic relief. And no Richard Dix! I don’t think anybody even gets killed, which makes it a little odd that the Whistler is even involved.

I did not realize the second movie was a Whistler movie till we actually watched it. I couldn’t recall the title of that one this morning, but luckily had made a note of it in the TV Journal: The Mysterious Intruder. When we watched it, we noted a subtitle “A Whistler Movie.” Richard Dix stars in this one, and it is directed by William Castle. So right away I liked it better.

I DVR’d it because I liked the description, something about a detective tracking somebody who leaves a trail of bodies. Now, in the scheme of things, serial killers do not interest me nearly as much as a personal murder for an understandable reason. But for a cheesy old movie, trail of bodies sounded good. As it turned out, all the murders were for a sound reason, all stemming from the original killing for gain.

This, by the way, is often the case. Hercule Poirot said murder is a habit. You steel yourself to kill one person for what you think is a compelling reason. The next thing you know, you have to kill some other guy, because he’s onto you, and then somebody else, because she’s going to get the thing you killed the first guy for. Less and less steel is required.

But I digress. Anyways, there is no indication that this killer had any problem killing the first guy.

Richard Dix plays a private investigator. The movie opens with this old guy trying to hire him to trace this little blonde girl he used to know. He’s pretty cagey about it, but indicates that great wealth is at stake.

And this is where, once again, I really don’t want to go on, because I would no doubt give away major plot points. In fact, it may be giving too much away to tell you that things are not what they seem. Oops.

The movie clips right along, fast enough that you don’t notice the pick-up-truck-sized holes in the plot. In fact, I spent a good portion of Monday morning (when I wasn’t trying to remember the other movie) saying, “Waaaait a minute!” But at the time, I zipped right along with the rest of them.

In conclusion, I’d say either movie is entertaining enough to catch on a dull night home. And trying to remember one plot and saying “Wait a minute!” about another added some interest to my Monday morning. I don’t have a rating system like thumbs up or three apples. Maybe that’s what I’ll spend my Tuesday morning thinking about.

Saturday Evening Post

OK, I don’t have anything today except for that (I think) fabulous title, and it took me all day to come up with that.

As regular readers (I sure hope I still have some) know, I am hesitant to start running again, due to recent back problems, so Saturday Running Commentary was out. Fine, I thought, I’ll go for a walk. Tabby will like that.

And at first, she certainly seemed to. But two blocks in, she did her business and clearly indicated she was done walking, she wanted to go home.

I had some library books I had to return. We drove in the truck (no, there weren’t that many books that it needed a truck; I drive a truck). The library wasn’t open yet, so I put the books in the depository while Tabby waited for me in the truck. Nothing blogworthy there.

Back home, I started cleaning my house. That is, of course, startling and incredible news to those who know me. Blogworthy? Well, I did threaten to do a cleaning post, after several cooking posts once. Funny how cooking is so much more fun and creative than cleaning when they often get mentioned together as chores that couples ought to share (just a little half-baked philosophy; I don’t think my Friday Lame Post included any of that).

In desperation, I took a nap. Ever try to sleep when you’re desperate? OK, neither did I. I took a nap because I got up with Steven at 3:30, because he had to be in to work at 6, much like he often gets up with me at 3:30, because my overtime day starts at 5.

I thought, sleep, coffee, then I’ll write the blog post. Uh, and it looks like I did. Wait a minute, I’ve done this post before. “I had to write a post. But first I did this, then I did this, then I did this, then I wrote the post, and here it is.” That hoary fictional cliche, where the writer’s adventure turns out to be the movie or book we’ve just been watching or reading. I believe I even mentioned that cliche. I think it was last Friday’s Lame Post.

Oh well, what the hell, as a wise woman once said (it was my mother). At least this, this, and this that I did was different. Let’s call it a template for when I just can’t come up with anything. At any rate, Steven is home now. I’ll see if I can drag him on a Mohawk Valley adventure so I’ll have something better to blog about.

Walk, Don’t Run

I was going to go running yesterday, because halfway through work I realized my back felt much better. I miss running! For one thing, I go further away from the house, so I see different scenery than when I take a walk with Tabby. For another thing, I’m gaining weight again. Say it ain’t so! If any more motivation is needed, it’s a built-in blog post.

On the other hand, for the past week my back has been really paining me. I mean, more so that your common or garden over-40 aches. I seriously considered going to the doctor and embarking upon a long struggle with addiction to prescription painkillers. Of course, there was no guarantee I could get in to see the doctor right away, and even less guarantee that he would prescribe anything beyond physical therapy and weight loss (say it ain’t so!).

While I dithered, I did some stretches I found in a Women’s Day magazine (April 2012) as well as a couple shown me by my mother and a woman at work. I know, this is not the same thing as working with a trained physical therapist who can ensure I am doing the appropriate moves with the proper form. Well, it fit my schedule and my budget for now.

And IT HELPED!!! I felt joyous. I knew I had sports bras clean. It had only been a week and one day since my last run. I could rock this! Then I thought, don’t be stupid. Your back just this minute stopped hurting, don’t instantly do something known to cause back strain. Still, running helps with the weight loss thing. I dithered a little more (I always say, go with your strengths).

Perhaps it was fortunate that my back started twinging again on the drive home. I thought a nice walk with Tabby would be more my speed. Tabby was agreeable. She didn’t want to go very far, either. Two blocks was all we did. I stretched some more later on.

Today at work, my friend who had shown me the one stretch brought me a copy of the physical therapy exercises she did when she was out for a month with back pain. I showed them to another co-worker and assured him I intended to do these exercises faithfully, “So you won’t have to listen to me complain about my aching back ANY MORE!”

He expressed skepticism. I explained that he would still have to listen to me complain about other things, and he believed that much.

I had actually meant to write a blog post about my two block walk with Tabby. When I sat down and put pen to paper, all this garbage about my back came out. I originally thought I might segue into an amusing description of the walk and edit out the back garbage later, but for some reason I never quite got to the amusing description. Then I thought, it’s Lame Post Friday! What could be more lame than two Fridays in a row complaining about my aches and pains? Stay tuned for more posts about Why I Can’t Write a Decent Post. Happy Friday, everyone!

Wine at the Farmer’s Market

As we wend through October, the summer farmers’ markets are coming to an end. Since Steven was off on Wednesday, I suggested he and Tabby pick me up at work and we visit the Mohawk, NY Farmer’s Market while we still could.

That is, if the weather cooperated. The morning forecast (granted that was at four in the morning) said rain after 7 p.m. Perfect! Well, that didn’t happen. When I spoke to Steven at lunch time, he told me about all the indoor Halloween decorating he had been doing.

“Because it’s been raining ALL DAY!”

The rain had fortunately stopped by 3:30, when I get done work. It is always exciting to have a rendezvous with my favorite husband and the world’s cutest dog (oh, I know, you feel your dog is cuter, as you should).

“When I drove by the place,” Steven told me, “I saw 1000 Islands Winery and one other tent.”

That was OK with me; I particularly wanted to patronize the winery. The last time we went to the Mohawk Farmer’s Market, I tasted but did not buy. This time I intended to taste and buy.

The market is located in Weller Park, next to Weller Library on Main Street in Mohawk. There were actually three or four tents, but I made a beeline for the winery’s, because it looked like the guy was picking up.

“Oh, no, just putting away some of these extra bottles,” he said. “What would you like to sample?”

First I tried the Merlot and the Cabernet Sauvignon, because I like dry red. I seemed to remember preferring their Cab over their Merlot (real oenophiles call it “cab”), but I had forgotten how tasty the Merlot is.

Then I tried a semi-dry Riesling. Not as dry as I like, but it tasted like a good summer wine to me. I asked if the Pinot Grigio was sweet. I learned from my friends at Vintage Spirits that Italian Pinot Grigio tends to be drier than the California version. I wondered where New York fell on the scale. The winery guy said it was drier than the Riesling, so I tried it. Yum!

I decided to purchase the Merlot and asked could he take a credit card (you never know at farmers’ markets). He had one of those little square things on his phone that I’ve seen advertised on TV. Oh, technology! It took a few tries for my card to swipe. Then I had to type my e-mail address on his touch screen to receive my receipt. Yikes! I don’t text. I don’t work with touch screens. I live in the 20th century, for heavens’ sake!

First it totally would not accept my serious e-mail address (the one I use when I apply for a job or for business purposes), I think because there are periods in it (note to self: get a new serious e-mail address). Then it just took me forever to type in my silly e-mail address (the one my friends and family use), because my fingers are fat and clumsy.

While I futzed around with that, Steven and Tabby checked out the rest of the market. Steven purchased a little pumpkin and a variety pack of Amish cookies. Tabby made a few new friends.

The Mohawk Farmers’ Market runs from May through October from 2 to 5 p.m. in Weller Park. I don’t know, though, but what this was the last week, because when I drove by Weller Library the sign about the market was gone. Oh well, something to look forward to in the spring!

For more information about 1000 Islands Winery, check out their website at http://www.thousandislandswinery.com/